


Rope Burns

by soprano_buddy15



Category: The Last Kingdom, The Last Kingdom (TV), The Warrior Chronicles | The Saxon Stories - Bernard Cornwell
Genre: Hild is a queen, Season 2 Epiosde 2, Sihtric is so smol, Spoilers, we stan her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:34:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25416244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soprano_buddy15/pseuds/soprano_buddy15
Summary: Hild the Warrior Nun is a confusing woman, and Sihtric has no idea what to think of her.
Comments: 14
Kudos: 38





	Rope Burns

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Java_Blythe_Peralta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Java_Blythe_Peralta/gifts).



> Hello! 
> 
> So like, Hild is fierce, and the scene where she is cutting off Tekil’s head is intense! I just love all of their expressions, and I wanted to explore Sihtric’s first impressions of Hild. 
> 
> A huge chunk of this comes directly from episode 2 of season 2, so credits to the writers of that episode!
> 
> This is for Java_Blythe_Peralta, and all of the lovely people I’ve come to know through this site and the fandom. I love you all. 
> 
> Constructive comments are always welcome! Just don’t be rude, because nobody wants that.

Sihtric winced as the big Dane wrapped the coarse rope around his wrists and pulled it tight. It scratched and irritated his skin; he knew he would have terrible marks within minutes. 

The Dane was huge and bear-like: Not on hair on his head, a bushy white moustache, and arms as big as tree trunks. The Saxon man next to him was even smaller than himself, with tight brown curls and quick steps. 

The Dane, whom the short Saxon called Clapa, yanked on the rope binding Sihtric’s wrists together and he stumbled forward, trying to keep up with his lumbering steps. 

This was not ideal. Tekil and the rest of his men were dead, and somehow, by the grace of the gods, Uhtred Ragnarson had spared his life. 

Sihtric was nothing. He came from nothing. His mother was dead, and his father, Kjartan, did not care for him. Tekil was the only person since his mother to actually _do_ something for him. Kjartan had been prepared to kill him, abandon him, but Tekil had stepped in and bought him from Kjartan, claiming he needed a boy for the horses. 

Slowly but surely, Tekil taught him bits and pieces of sword-skill, often leaving Sihtric to make it up as he went along. He favoured his axe as well, relying on how simple it was to swing and cleave through enemies, which was much different from the difficulty of the sword. 

But now, he was a prisoner with no lord. A pawn. 

Halig, the Saxon, motioned for Clapa to tie the rope to a post for securing horses. Sihtric supposed that it fit: Kjartan enjoyed reminding him that he was no better than the animals. 

Uhtred Ragnarson’s other men had just finished dumping the last of Tekil’s men into the corner, brushing their bloody hands off on the dead men’s tunics. Clapa pulled out an axe, and Halig promptly filled a large mug with ale. 

Uhtred wanted the heads to gift to Kjartan, he had told everyone that himself. But the desperation in Sihtric’s gut grew as Clapa down a mug of ale, resting the axe against his head. 

Uhtred needed Sihtric alive to tell him about the fortress of Dunholm, but the glint of the axe head reminded him that that was all he was good for. He knew that once Uhtred had determined his worth was up, he would be meeting the axe, hopefully with a weapon in his hands to go to Valhalla. 

He had to think of something, and fast. 

The desperation grew and clawed its way through his throat. “I would like to speak to Lord Uhtred,” he demanded, trying to keep his voice from shaking. He gulped as the Dane glanced at him, and Halig blinked in disbelief. 

“You cannot,” Halig said, taking another long drink of ale. 

Sihtric tried again. “I would like to serve him.” 

“You cannot!” Halig said again, just as fiercely. “Now shut your mouth, before I fill it with my boot!”

Sihtric clenched his jaw but held Halig’s gaze. The Saxon was glaring at him, and he knew that Halig would not mind if he dropped dead this instant. The threat was nothing to what he had heard from Kjartan. He knew that he had to speak to Uhtred before Uhtred decided that it was time to use the information he had. He knew that the only thing he could do was to swear his oath to Uhtred. The problem was staying alive long enough for Uhtred to hear him out. 

The sound of gentle footsteps reached his ears, and he looked up at the nun walking towards them. She cleared her throat to alert Halig of her presence. “When do you plan to begin?” She asked. She was incredibly small, and was looking past Clapa at the dead Danes with trepidation.

“When I am drunk.” By the sound of Halig’s voice, he wasn’t that far off. 

The nun hesitated. “Have you done this before?”

“Never,” said Halig. “But I know it is best to wait for the blood to thicken.” Clapa nodded in agreement. 

Sihtric watched as she looked around again, and then leaned in toward’s Halig. She spoke to him in soft words, and Sihtric strained to hear what they were saying to each other. Halig’s face was incredulous. 

“I need to become accustomed-” The nun burst out suddenly, and finished quietly. Halig frowned, but stepped back to let her through. 

Sihtric watched as she stepped around the bodies, ending at Tekil. She pulled out her small knife, and dread shot through him as he realized what she was about to do. 

“Hild!” Halig called to her. “We’ll be using an axe!”

The nun ( _Hild_ , thought Sihtric), gently turned Tekil’s head to the side and brought her knife to his neck, exhaling long and deep. She took a breath, and plunged the knife into the skin. 

Sihtric could only watch in horror as she furiously sawed through the tissue, and he could hear the grating of metal on bone, the snap of the neck. Halig winced and turned away, Clapa only shrugging in defeat. Bile rose up his throat, and he looked away from her quickly, knowing he would be sick if he kept watching. He only wished that he could cover his ears to hide the pained cries she was making. 

Never had he imagined such brutality. And yet here it was, right in front of him, and coming from a nun, no less. She stood, dropping the head with a thud and stumbling over to the wagon. She bent over, throwing up bile and wiping it away with trembling hands. Sihtric heard her whimper softly. 

Sihtric wanted to serve Uhtred, yes, but who would he be serving with? A Saxon determined to hate him, and Dane that looked like he could crush Sihtric’s head with one hand, and a nun who beheads dead men with a small knife?

*****

Sihtric hated being tied to a wagon. 

It had not been his first time. He recalled when Kjartan was moving his growing settlement to Dunholm, and Sihtric had failed in securing the goats. He had been such a young boy, merely seven, but the knots in the rope had not held and the goats had scampered off. Kjartan had nearly taken a couple of Sihtric’s fingers in rage, but his mother had begged and taken the beating for him. But he still had to be punished, and Kjartan announced that Sihtric would be bound to the wagon so that he did not cause more trouble. 

Guthred, Uhtred, and his other men were at the front of the line and Sihtric could hear them cheering for battle. The road was muddy from all of the horses and men marching, and Sihtric’s feet were constantly slipping in the slick earth. 

They had at least given him a good amount of rope and so he was not dodging the wagon wheels and could move around giant puddles. But the rope was still tight and cutting into his skin, and drops of blood were staining the cord red. 

He sighed in relief as they stopped to make camp, and he wearily sat down behind the wagon as a plan began to form in his head. It was incredibly foolish, he knew that, but Uhtred was determined to speak with him only when he wanted to, and Sihtric needed to be freed as soon as he was able. 

The next time he saw Hild the Nun, she was wearing Tekil’s mail. She had also braided her hair in twists, much like how he did his own, and had added some beads. She was walking past him as he was still tied to the wagon.

“You, girl!” He called to her. She ignored him. “Woman!” He rolled his eyes as she continued walking past him. “Warrior!”

That got her attention. She stopped, turning around and raising an eyebrow. 

Sihtric could only hope and pray that his plan would work. “I need to go into the woods there,” he muttered. She somehow raised her eyebrow even more. “I need to shit!”

By the gods, the eyebrow kept rising. But she turned and headed towards Halig. “I do not wish to fill my breeches!” Sihtric blurted out after her.

“Halig, our prisoner requires attention.” He heard her mutter to the Saxon. Halig groaned. 

Taking another one of the men in the army, Halig untied his rope from the wagon and the other man pulled him along. The rope was still tight, and he winced as it rubbed painfully against him when the man pushed him down to the ground. 

“I believe Lord Uhtred is hoping you can tell him about Kjartan’s fortress,” Halig said to him, in a moment of openness. 

Sihtric already knew this. That was the only reason that he could have been spared. “It is tall.” Sihtric replied, grinning wickedly. 

Halig smiled coldly. “Tell him that and you are a dead man.”

“Then let me speak to him.”

“He will speak to you when he is ready.” Halig took a step back. “He’s a good man.”

Halig’s word rung through Sihtric’s brain, and he understood that this was his only chance to be free of Kjartan. Pretending to untie his breeches, he pointedly looked at the two men until they turned away. 

Praying to the gods that this would work, Sihtric grabbed hold of his end of the rope and swung it over and around the extra man’s legs, tripping him. Halig drew his sword, charging towards him but Sihtric kicked him in the chest, causing him to fall back. 

The other man had stood up already, and Sihtric struck him in the face before reaching and grabbing his sword. Halig came at him, and Sihtric brought the blade up to deflect the incoming blow. He ducked as Halig swung at him again, and grabbing Halig’s arms as best as he could, whipped himself around to the back of him and held the blade against his throat as Halig fell onto his knees. “Drop your sword!” Sihtric demanded. 

Halig groaned in frustration as his sword fell to the leaves. “You will fetch Lord Uhtred.” Sihtric commanded the other man. “Tell him I have his man!”

“Kill me and we are both dead!” Halig yelled, and Sihtric held the blade up closer to his neck. “Now!” Sihtric demanded again.

The man ran towards the camp, calling for Uhtred as loudly as he could. “With luck we shall both live,” Sihtric muttered to Halig. The Saxon stayed still, but Sihtric could feel the rage coming off of him. 

Uhtred, Hild, and the other man came back, Hild prepared to draw her sword. “I could have killed him, Lord,” Sihtric called. “Made good my escape.”

“Kill him and you will die slowly,” Uhtred threatened.

Halig smirked. “Told you.”

Sihtric tightened his grip on the blade. “I asked your man to fetch you, lord. I do not murder, I wish to bargain.”

Uhtred glanced at the men coming up before turning back to him. “A life for a life, is it?” He was pacing back and forth in front of him. 

Sihtric gulped. “My life for my sword. I wish to serve you, Lord.” He could not keep the pleading out of his voice. “I could have killed both, but I wish to serve you.”

Uhtred had stooped down to pick up Halig’s sword. “You are Kjartan’s man.” He dismissed.

Rage flooded through Sihtric, but the sense of freedom that followed was exhilarating. “No,” he said. “I am Kjartan’s bastard son, whelped on a slave girl. And you are Uhtred Ragnarson, and I wish to serve a warrior and a lord, a true lord!”

Sihtric knew that he had Uhtred’s attention now, as he was examining him curiously. “If you believe me to be these things, then put down your sword.”

He inhaled sharply. He was surrounded by warriors, and an angry Saxon was kneeling right in front him. He nervously repositioned his hands on the hilt. “You guarantee my life?”

“Put down your sword.”

The old man who Sihtric believed was a holy man interrupted. “Kill him.”

“No. Put down your sword.” Uhtred was staring at him intensely. 

Sihtric glanced around at the warriors again. He supposed he could only hope they would allow him a weapon before he died. He threw it down, and Halig scrambled away. “I can be of use to you, Lord.” Sihtric pleaded again. 

“He is nothing but a heathen, kill him!” The holy man demanded. 

Uhtred rolled his eyes. “No one is to move.”

“Kill him now!”

“I said no one is to move and no one is to speak but me!” Uhtred yelled, staring at the holy man. “No one!” The holy man met Uhtred’s gaze, but backed away slowly. 

Sihtric swallowed nervously as Uhtred made his way closer to him. “What is your name?” He asked, only so that he could hear him. 

“I am called Sihtric, Lord.” He shook his head, dropping his gaze to the ground. “Please… I’m not loyal to Kjartan and never can be.”

“You swear your sword is mine?”

He brought his aching hands up to his pendant and grasped it tightly. “On Thor’s Hammer, I do, Lord.” He knelt down before Uhtred. “I swear.”

A small smile was on Uhtred’s lips. “Then you have my protection.”

Relief flooded through him. “Lord, thank you. Thank you.” 

Uhtred shared a glance with Guthred. “Sihtric is with us now. He serves in King Guthred’s army.

Stumbling to his feet, Sihtric continued praying to the gods his thanks for his plan actually working. Halig had come up to him, although he kept a wary distance. “So do you need to shit or not?” He asked, clearly upset. 

Sihtric grinned in what he hoped Halig would take as a kind gesture. “Maybe later.”

The Saxon frowned, but used his knife to cut through the ropes binding his wrists together. Sihtric sighed in relief as they fell away, leaving behind red and raw skin. 

“I’m still watching you.” Halig warned, and continued to glance over his shoulder as he left. 

*****

“They’re coming from the north.” Sihtric said to Hild, Halig, and Clapa as they watched the army of Danes march across the land. “It can only be the brothers Sigefrid and Erik.”

“Not Kjartan?” Hild asked. 

Sihtric shook his head. “No.”

“Would you say if it was?” Halig muttered.

It stung a little bit, but Sihtric had held a knife up to Halig’s throat. “Two of us should remain here and watch, two of us should return to Uhtred.” He said, trying to ignore the bite of Halig's words.

“It is not your place to decide what we do,” Halig interrupted. “Lord Uhtred put me in command.” 

“Oh, yes, Lord.” Clapa responded, and chuckled when Halig nudged him harshly. 

“Hild, you will return to Uhtred.” Halig said.

“Alone?”

Halig swallowed. “With Sihtric.”

Sihtric knew that Hild’s eyebrows were going up again as he tried to hide his smirk. “The two of us?” She asked, but Halig ignored her. Smiling softly, Hild stood and gestured for him to follow suit.

Sihtric followed her to the horses. “He’ll come around,” Hild said as she pulled herself up. “Halig is incredibly loyal to Uhtred, and you unnerve him.”

“It’s alright,” Sihtric muttered, turning his horse back towards the camp. “I understand.”

The forest was quiet at they made their way along the trail. Sihtric was never quite sure what to do with Hild. She was kind to him, and kind to the people in the camp, but he could never forget the way she cut Tekil’s head off. 

“Sihtric, what happened to your wrists?” She asked suddenly, and Sihtric glanced down. He had not found bandages to cover the broken skin from his bindings, and the skin was beginning to swell. 

Sihtric hurriedly tried to hide the marks under his bracers, but Hild’s hands shot out with surprising strength and stopped him. “Are these from the ropes?” She breathed.

To his own surprise, he nodded. She grimaced. “We’re stopping for a moment,” she declared, and promptly dismounted. 

“But what about telling Uhtred about the brothers-”

“You’ll be no help to him with an infection.” She gestured for him to follow her down a narrow path to a small stream. She brought Sihtric’s hand into the water, washing the skin. It stung for a moment, but then the coolness of the stream soothed the burn. She had pulled a length of cloth from her saddlebag and tore it in two, wrapping each wrist firmly. 

“Is that better?” She asked.

He flexed his wrists. “Much,” he said. “Thank you.”

She sat back on her heels. “I’m sorry that you were suffering like that,” she said. “Clapa forgets that he is terribly strong.”

By the gods, everything she did just made him more confused. “I’ll be alright.” He replied after a moment. 

She smiled softly at him. “Yes, Sihtric. I think you will be.”

Suddenly, Sihtric recognized that there was an incredible sadness to Hild, and a pain that enveloped and overwhelmed her. He had seen it in his own mother enough growing up. “I think we both will be,” he whispered, understanding her a bit more. 

Hild smiled at him, and together, they made their way back up to the horses.


End file.
